2010-04-27: Last Name Basis



Date: April 27, 2010


Now that the threat has passed, Devon looks to start a normal life not on the run — and get a hair cut.

"Last Name Basis"

Devon's Hotel Room

It took a few days after the dust started to clear and it looked like they weren't about to be dragged off, collared and locked away for weapons for Devon to get comfortable going back to his hotel room, which had practically been an apartment. One of those pay through the week or month, deals, and he'd paid up to this very day, when he's asked Tori to go with him to pack up his things.

The room doesn't look like it got ransacked or busted into, so his worry about going back to his hotel has been proven false. Everything he owned could be fit into a large luggage bag. Pushing it down, he locks it up, and then looks across the room. "I've been living out of a bag for over a year now. I'm not sure what I'm going to do now."

Though at times they seem very different — after all, despite Tori's criminal past, she's a barrister's daughter who went to posh prep schools and is getting a doctorate in literature! — there are moments that their similarities come sharply into focus. She lived out of a bag for months in Europe. The longest she stayed in any one place was in Ireland for two months — other than that, two weeks was about her limit before she moved on.

"Whatever you want, I suppose. Can Cody get you fake papers?" she asks softly, one hand coming up to rest between his shoulder blades, rubbing lightly before she rests a cheek against one shoulder from where she stands behind him.

There's a moment of quiet as she leans against his shoulder. Devon's warm, like usual, though not the feverish levels that she's felt after spending time in smoke form. Though his clothes still smell of it, whether he's been smoking recently or not. It's there and it's strong. His hand touches his shoulder on the same side she's pressing against, and he keeps it there for a moment, as if deciding whether to actually touch her or not…

"Maybe," he finally says, turning and pulling away from her touch, running that hand through his hair instead, pushing it back out of his eyes. "I'll ask her about that, see if I can't get a normal job, or…" He could be entitled to some compensation! Maybe his brother had a place to live before he got himself shot in the face…

"I should probably cut my hair," he asides, as his hand drops and the hair falls back into his eyes.

Her hand that was touching him slides into her pocket as he pulls away — as if she wants to keep from reaching for him when he steps away from her. She glances up and smiles as his hair flops back down into his eyes, and her hand comes out of her pocket again to touch it lightly. "I like your hair," Tori says, a little shyly. "Even if it's as long as mine. But depending what kind of job you want to get, you might want to. I used to cut my friends' hair — I thought I might be a hair stylist at one point, believe it or not. I can cut it if you like."

"What kind of job do you want to get?" she asks, dropping her hand again. "There's so much I don't know about you." There's a touch of wistfulness in her voice.

"Don't really care much how it looks, but it'd be nice to have it out of the way," Devon says, picking at it and looking at her own hair in contrast. Yeah, it is about the same length. Turning away from her to face the bag, he bends down and opens it up, pulling out a small bag that he'd retrieved from the restroom, which he hands over to her. There's scissors inside, shaving cream, electric razor and other things. "Just don't leave me bald and we should be good," he says, moving to find a towel to catch the hair, a trash can, and a place to sit so she can do that.

"And there's— not a lot to know about me, I guess. I used to work in welding and other electrical, stuff crawling around under people's homes and making sure they weren't about to set their homes on fire." Which is now funny, considering.

Coming his hair first, Tori then picks up the scissors and begins to trim it. "Well, that's a good job for you — making sure people aren't setting anything on fire," she says lightly, echoing his words but not following the obvious path that one might to suggest firefighting as a career field of choice for Devon.

She studies his face as she cuts, making sure she doesn't cut him or herself — it's rather different to cut the hair of a man one is involved with, compared to a friend just trying to avoid the cost of a salon, she finds. It allows her to look at him closely without feeling shy about it, to brush her fingers lightly along his jaw or his chin, to tip his head the way she needs it to tilt. The longer locks fall to the towel below in flutters now and then.

Haircutting can be rather intimate, and Devon moves as gestured, though occassionally seems to lean against her touch more than necessary, eyes slide shut a little, until he's just moving as she gestures and feeling the hair fall away. "There's a lot of electrical work I could still do, I'm sure, though if New York is anything like the other states, I'll have to get a certificate to prove I know what the hell I'm doing. Following all the local laws." Cause there really are so many of those…

That would require a class or two, which also requires an identity. "I'll talk to Medusa, see if she can't set me up with something. She seemed to be good at making up her own identities. But I won't have to live out of a hotel anymore."

Tori trims a little more after deciding one spot looks a bit lopsided. "You don't have to anyway," she says quietly, glancing at his eyes in the mirror from where she stands behind him. "I mean… you can stay with me…" It's not something she thought she'd offer any time soon — she had sworn off men for a while after her ex boyfriend turned out to be a murderer, after all, and she certainly didn't expect to trust anyone so quickly here. "I mean… until you feel ready to leave," she adds, glancing down before flipping the razor on to clean up the nape of his neck.

At least this one doesn't seem to be a murderer. Or at least not as far as anyone is aware. From the way he didn't just go around killing Alpha Protocol soldiers by smoke inhilation, it might say he's not really the killing kind. Even when he has a good reason to want to kill them, due to his brother. Still, the offer takes him by surprise, nevermind Devon'd been staying in her place since that night when he failed to rescue people and thought his hotel might have been compromised.

If she didn't have a razor against his neck, he might have turned to look at her. Instead his eyes just open and he tries to find her reflection in the nearby mirror. "All right," is the final verdict, followed by a sudden half smile. "I won't have to steal clothes anymore, at least." Thanks to having a bag full of them. Even if he did buy a few so he could change anyway.

When his eyes find hers in the mirror, Tori glances away a little shyly, but then he says yes, and there's a toothy smile she can't hide. "I mean… it's not like it makes a lot of sense to have two people pay for two places if they can stand one another enough to share a bed and a bathroom, right?" she teases, trying to make light of the quick decision on his part.

After a few careful paths made by the razor, she bends and blows softly to get rid of stray hairs, then ruffles the top of his much shorter hair. "You look so different," she murmurs, staring at him in the mirror. Devon looks like the man she saw in her vision — he looks like his brother.

"My brother had it even shorter," Devon remarks quietly, looking across at his reflection and tilting his head around. In the grand scheme of things, he now has to wonder if his brother had had an ability and managed to hide it. Twins, after all, have almost the same genetics— but he'll never know now. "I could pass for him. I did a few times, but he had tattoos from the Air Force, and he was in better shape, too."

There's a little laugh at that. His brother, the clean cut one, having the tattoos. But military guys get those all the time. His own skin had been clear of such things, with the exception of some scarring here and there, he didn't have much in the way of marks. "You are right, though. Makes more sense, until you get sick of having me around." Or he gets sick of her. Whichever happens first.

The haircutter runs her hand once more through the short cut hair and then slips around to take Devon's lap, facing him, her forearms resting on his shoulders. "Well, it's not bad for a free haircut, though it could be better, I'm sure," she murmurs, bending her head to kiss him lightly. "In my long and illustrious career as a thief," she says with a grin, "I've noticed people do not pay attention to details. Unless your brother had a tat across his forehead, unless it was someone really close to him, or like a police detective, most people wouldn't even notice."

Tori looks up, reaching up to touch his temple. "It's nice to see your eyes, though."

"His Air Force buddies nicknamed him Justice. Cause our last name is Law, and he was really big about always doing the right thing," Devon says with a glance at the mirror, almost as if he's teasing his dead brother, when he can't anymore. Then those blue eyes she can now see are focused on her. "I'll see what needs to be done to get myself a real life again."

While he says that, he reaches up to touch her face, running his thumb along the side of her mouth, and her cheek. "I don't remember if you ever told me your last name." He hadn't given his until now, he doesn't think.

"Law," she murmurs softly, more to herself, tasting the name on her lips. A few years ago she probably would have written it out with her name in front of it, to see what her name would sound like if they were married, but she's not quite that naive anymore. "Mine's Duffy," she says, turning her face slightly to brush her lips across his thumb. "Irish last name. Went by Duff in football — you know, soccer for you heathens." She leans forward to kiss him once more, then slips off his lap. "Shall we go sign you out?"

And she slips off his lap.

"I think we should celebrate knowing each other's last names," Devon says with a grin, standing up and pulling her closer. "Sides, the maid should at least have a reason to have to wash the sheets. They were fresh the night I didn't come back." And that's a waste of laundry, in his opinion.

New relationships can do this sort of thing, and now his hair won't get in the way, either.

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